


of starlight and deep delight

by persephonea



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: A bit of drama, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Stardust Fusion, Because I Honestly Can't Write Anything Else, Connor Is a Fallen Star That Lands Right in Hank's Lap, Falling In Love, Gentle Sex, Happy Ending, M/M, Romance, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 12:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18620329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephonea/pseuds/persephonea
Summary: Connor shifts and when Hank looks at him, he’s so close he sees all those small constellations dotting his skin. He wants to map them with his fingers, his mouth. Connor’s eyes flick lower and his lips part. Hank’s hand moves of its own volition and he brings it up to cup the side of Connor’s face, rough calluses pressed against his smooth cheek as Connor leans into it.“Is this desire?” Connor’s hot breath mingles with Hank’s inhale in the shared space between them. “When you touch me...” He brings Hank’s other hand to his chest. “I want you to keep touching me. Everywhere.”--He was crying when the star fell.





	of starlight and deep delight

**Author's Note:**

> this is a stardust au nobody asked for but i'm feeding it to you anyway. enjoy your veggies! ❤

_Tell me a story._

_In this century, and moment, of mania,_

_Tell me a story._

_Make it a story of great distances, and starlight._

_The name of the story will be Time,_

_But you must not pronounce its name._

_Tell me a story of deep delight._

Robert Penn Warren

 

Hank is out in the field when it happens. The dark blue sky splits in half, a bright blinding flash draws a line that burns in his retinas long after it disappears. Hank blinks. His eyes follow the trajectory of a white residue printed onto his eyelids.

He sits up from where he was laying on the grass and shivers, body aching as blood pumps through it again. He runs his cold hands down his face. His clothes are soaked with the dew that fell as the evening turned into the night, but his palms wipe something less chilling off his cheeks. He was crying when the star fell. Holding a weightless small palm in his, a phantom of a touch, and wishing for a hand to hold once more. But Hank knows stars don’t make little boys fall from the skies back to earth again. He won’t hear Cole’s laughter, not tonight, not ever.

He shakes his head. “Let’s look at you, then.”

With a groan, he stands up and heads for the edge of the woods, where the flash in his memory leads him. The air seems to be quivering with nervous energy, the night suddenly uncharacteristically quiet, no owls, no cicadas filling the lonely hours between the sunset and sunrise.

He approaches the site of the crash and smells burnt gravel and wounded trees, sweet sap mixing with the spicy flavor of smoke which stings lightly as he inhales.

Pebbles under his feet crunch. He steps over broken branches and fallen trunks until he stands at the edge of a steep slope. A crater lies below him. It must be thirty yards across. Hank squints in the dark. There’s something white lying in the heart of the pit.

“What in hell-”

The white stain moves.

“Fuck.”

Hank takes a step forward and he’s sliding down the slope, gravel biting his bare hands as he tries to slow down his descent. His fall stops just short of reaching the center. He lands on his hands and knees and crawls forward, hastily. Hank’s hands make contact with something warm and solid. “That’s not...” - possible. And yet he’s touching a body. His hands caress planes of smooth skin and as the moonlight floods the pit he sees them leaving smears of blood on white flesh. He turns the body over.

The breath gets stuck in his chest. His hand cradles the face of a man, gentle slants carefully crafted. He looks like one of those marble angels Hank’s seen when he visited the merchant town in the North. Only, his skin is warm. His lips look soft and pliable to the touch. Hank follows the smooth line of his brow.

“Who are you?” He whispers.

The words get swallowed by a sharp inhale. The angel in his arms comes to life. His eyes flutter open.

“You found me,” he says and smiles, wrapping a hand around Hank’s heart and pulling. He looks far too content for someone lying at the bottom of a crater in the arms of a stranger. Before Hank’s mind catches up to him, the man closes his eyes, as though seeing Hank was a worthy aspiration and his body goes limp as his consciousness fades again.

“And what am I supposed to do with you now?”

Hank’s gaze slides down his body. He curses softly and feels a heat rising to the tips of his ears. He quickly reaches for the clasp holding his cloak together. Laying the fabric over the man, he covers his bare form and gently hoists him in his hands.

“Home it is.”

He makes his way through the field, panting slightly as the sweat starts gathering on his temples. Angels aren’t exactly light. The sun is climbing upwards and the morning light catches in soft brown curls and turns them golden. But they are beautiful.

***

Hank paces in front of his house, six steps to reach the lilies and six steps back to the door. The angel - as he started calling him in his head - is sleeping in his bed and hasn’t moved in five hours. The sun is high up in the sky now and Hank has work to do. He looks back through the window at the lump under the covers. Hopefully, he’ll sleep a little longer. Hank just doesn’t want to deal with a freaked out man after he wakes up in a stranger’s bed, most likely not remembering much from last night.

He sighs. “Work can’t wait. Sumo!” He calls for his dog, who happily pads over, wagging his tail and nudging his head into Hank’s outstretched hand, looking for some petting. Hank bends down and burrows his fingers into soft fur, scratching behind Sumo’s ears, which earns him contented huffs.

“Now. I’m going to the workshop. Look after the angel, will you? Bark if he wakes up.” Sumo barks in response. “Good boy.” Hank pats his side.

Hank heads for the small barn a little further down the road. Keeping the door open, letting fresh air and sunlight in, he gets to work. Soon, he loses himself in it, sanding the surface of his newest piece, polishing the wood until it’s smooth and ready for the next step.

He’s hunched over a chest set on his table, carving delicate ornaments around the handle, pushing the chisel against the hard pine plank until it grows pliable under his hands. These moments compose a slightly cracked frame around his life, since death came around with its swelling stumps and festering bulbs and took away the person he loved most. They keep it all from falling apart. In creating something new and changing its form into something beautiful, something that serves a purpose, every day he chips away at the bulk of pain deforming his vision.

Sumo barks. Hank jerks and when he turns he’s met with curious warm eyes, Sumo tugging at the sheet the man wrapped around himself to pull him closer to Hank.

“Oh, Sumo. You were not supposed to drag him out of the bed.” He looks at the angel apologetically to find him smiling.

“It’s alright. I wanted to see you.” Oh, and is he looking. Hank wipes the sweat off his brow as the young man devours him. There’s a desperate glint to his gaze, but also a warmth that envelops Hank and draws him in like a moth to a dancing flame.

“How are you feeling? Do you remember anything from last night? How you ended up out there?”

The angel keeps smiling.

“Your name?” Hank suggests.

“My name’s Connor. And I’m feeling much better now that I’m with you, thank you, Hank.”

Hank tastes the name on the tip of his tongue and it takes a moment for the words to register. When they do, he feels his cheeks grow only hotter in the mellow summer air.

And then something else clicks. “Wait. How do you know my name?” He asks, weary.

Connor pulls the sheet closer to his body, shifting on his feet. “I came to find you. But instead, you found me.” His smile is brilliant, the light seeps into the lines of his face and it softens them, like it glows faintly along the edges.

Hank comes to the only rational explanation for this beautiful fallen angel looking at him like he’s exactly what he was searching for. Or like a cat that just caught its dinner. “You must’ve suffered a head injury. Let’s get you inside and put some clothes on you.”

He marches out the door, letting Connor follow him like a puppy, alongside his actual dog.

He’s digging through his few earthly possessions bunched up in a big chest under the window, trying to find something that wouldn’t hang too loose, when he feels Connor’s hand rest on his shoulder. He jerks away, startled, a pair of pants and an old tunic in his arms tucked against his chest, like it could protect him from the warm touch.

“I don’t have a head injury, Hank. My mind’s perfectly clear.”

“Well, can you remember what happened then? Because I found you knocked out at the bottom of a crater. You must’ve been close to the impact.”

Connor just looks at him.

“Did you see that star falling?”

The realization seems to creep up on Connor’s face. He raises his brows. “Are you serious?”

“What do you mean?” Hank asks defensively, clutching the clothes close.

“Hank. Was there anything else in that crater except me?”

“No. That’s why I’m asking.”

Connor steps closer and puts his hands over Hank’s. “There’s your answer.”

“Unless it was you who fell from the sky -” Connor’s smile shines brighter. It _is_ projecting light.

“Oh, sweet Joseph, it was you.”

“I’m a star. I fell because I came to find you.”

It’s the second time Connor said that. Hank needs to sit down. He hands him the bundle wordlessly and goes outside. Sitting on the ground with a dull thud, he tilts his head towards the sun, letting it heat his face.

It takes a while before Connor comes back out, fully dressed now, save for his bare feet.

“I’m sorry if it’s a lot to take in. I know humans have trouble accepting things that defy their reality.”

Hank doesn’t look at him but he feels Connor sitting down next to him, his leg touching Hank’s in the process. “That’s not it.” Hank sighs. “I’ve had contact with magic before.” He thinks of small hands glowing. As they opened, a butterfly with a mended wing flying past Hank’s wide eyes, followed by a cheerful giggle. “Just didn’t know stars could land in someone’s field like that.”

“It doesn’t happen that often.”

He hears that smile in Connor’s voice again. Hank opens his eyes.

“You said you wanted to come here.”

“Yes, I - I’ve watched you - humans - for an eternity and more, and I just wanted... I got tired of watching.” Connor’s fingers twitch in his lap and it seems like there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t.

Hank thinks he understands. He reaches for Connor’s hand. “It must’ve been terribly lonely.”

“I’ve watched so many stories unfold. So much evil, greediness, sadness. But also incredible kindness, love, pleasure. I wanted to be a part of that.”

“Why me?”

“You seemed just as lonely as me.”

Hank feels the hair on his arms stand up. The air is crackling as Connor runs his thumb over the back of Hank’s hand.

“What happens now?”

“I need you to teach me.”

Hank almost snorts at that. Nobody’s really needed him for a long time.

“If you want me to teach you about being human, you really should’ve picked better, kid. But sure, you need a place to stay, you’re welcomed here for as long as you’d like.”

“I couldn’t choose better. You have a kind heart, Hank.”

For Hank’s sake, he hopes Connor’s right. He feels it beat faster now, slowly picking up the pace, like an animal waking up from winter sleep. He hopes it finds shelter in someone’s hands.

***

And so, Connor stays. He lives, eats and sleeps in Hank’s house, spends time with him and asks a lot of questions. Sometimes though, he just observes Hank and seems content with that.

The first couple of weeks go by quickly. Every night when Hank goes to sleep, he listens to another person’s slow breaths fill the silence in the small room. His hand curls over his left breast where he feels the steady beat, blossoming and unfolding fragile petals. He knows he could crush it easily, but not without bleeding out all over the white sheets. He couldn’t bear having winter rip it out again.

Soon, Hank forgets what it was like when he didn’t have Connor’s soft and witty words filling the long hours of his days, and it’s terrifying. It’s intoxicating. Most nights, he still reaches for the bottle because Connor’s gentle hands can’t chisel the marble of pain in a matter of days. It’s a strenuous task that could take as long as the rest of his life.

“Hank!”

He turns to the sound of Connor’s voice coming from behind him to find the man looking, offended, at a piece of furniture.

“What is it?”

“I don’t think I’m doing it right.” Connor honest to god pouts, and Hank’s tired treacherous body can’t take it.

Hank looks at the work Connor has done so far. Sanding the armoire in question wasn’t particularly challenging, and he was doing quite alright, but as Hank found out during their time together, Connor’s a perfectionist in the truest meaning of the word.

“It’s not bad, Connor.”

“Not bad, he says.” Connor snorts. “Can you show me, please?”

And who’s Hank to resist the star’s pleading doe eyes, beckoning him to move closer. Only human.

“Alright.”

Connor smiles excitedly and positions himself with his back to Hank, head turned over his shoulder, eyebrows pointedly indicating he should stand behind him. Connor nudges at Hank’s hands and Hank places them on Connor’s, lifting them and guiding them over the surface.

“See, just like that,” he says next to Connor’s ears, voice low and throat dry.

He hears Connor’s soft sigh and feels him press his back into Hank’s chest, melting against him. Connor’s voice rings in Hank’s ears sweet and clear, _I’ve seen stories of unmeasurable pleasure._

Hank closes his eyes. He imagines, for a moment, that he could have this: Connor’s body warm and beautiful moving against him. He’d lift him up back to the night sky, a jewel in its crest.

Connor shifts and when Hank looks at him, he’s so close he sees all those small constellations dotting his skin. He wants to map them with his fingers, his mouth. Connor’s eyes flick lower and his lips part. Hank’s hand moves of its own volition and he brings it up to cup the side of Connor’s face, rough calluses pressed against his smooth cheek as Connor leans into it.

“Is this desire?” Connor’s hot breath mingles with Hank’s inhale in the shared space between them. “When you touch me...” He brings Hank’s other hand to his chest. “I want you to keep touching me. Everywhere.”

Hank groans and moves his thumb to rest against Connor’s bottom lip. “I want to, Con. God.” It seems like the lines of Connor’s face start slipping out of focus, shimmering in the dim light of the evening.

“Then, do.”

Hank can feel the quickened pulse of Connor’s heart under his fingertips. He lets his shoulders slump and touches his forehead against Connor’s. “It’s not fair.” Not fair that he can’t let himself be selfish, not fair to Connor who deserves so much more than to fall for his old broken body when he hasn’t seen the world yet. “I can’t. I can’t give you what you need.”

The faint glow around Connor’s smile wanes.

“It’s selfish of me to want you all to myself. There’s so much more outside of these four walls. You know this.”

“I do. And I choose to be here with you.”

Hank aches to believe that it’s enough.

“Look, it’s normal for you to have these... feelings, reactions, your body’s new to this. But I’m not going to take advantage of that just because I was lucky to be the first to touch you.”

Connor frowns and steps back. His voice is composed, with a hint of frustration tinting it. “Somehow you keep forgetting I’m not human, Hank. Yes, my body experiences new stimuli, but that doesn’t mean I can’t recognize my wants in their own right. I wanted you from the moment I saw you.”

That punches the air from his lungs. Hank reaches out for him but his hand freezes midway. Connor may want him, but the fact remains that he hasn’t met anyone else who could kindle that fire, set the star ablaze.

“Shit, Connor, I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

“If you say so.” He takes a step around him and walks towards the door. First stars start to appear as the sun rapidly dips below the horizon. “If you want to deny this to yourself, I can’t force you. But I wish you wouldn’t.”

At that moment, he looks like he was plucked straight from the canvas behind him... but also, strangely vulnerable, more human than he gives himself credit for. Hank can’t keep him to himself, but he’ll always remember how much Connor gave him these past few weeks. The bubble was bound to burst.

“Connor!”

The man stops.

“Please. Let me show you more.” There’s an insistence to Hank’s tone, desperation. Let me show you what all you can have so you realize I’m not enough.

Connor cocks his head.

“There’s a spring festival in the village this week. Ready to meet the world?” Hank smiles carefully and hopes to ease the sadness in Connor’s eyes.

“I think I’d like that. If you come with.”

“Not ready to let you go just yet.”

***

Hank’s rejection hangs like a heavy curtain between them, stifling the easy flow, foul air burning accusing imprints onto his conscience.

Connor doesn’t avoid him like Hank would prefer, but there’s a gloom edge to his smile and a sharp twist to his words. It might be worse, not hearing the usual kindness overflowing all like he’s grown accustomed to.

As the evening approaches, though, there’s something else settling in Connor’s features. He drums his fingers against his thigh and rocks on the balls of his feet. It’s the excitement that comes with a forgiving nature, and Hank receives the first genuine smile that day.

“Do you think this attire is appropriate for the occasion?”

Connor swirls, showing off one of Hank’s best white shirts and his old pants he used to wear when going to deal with the customers in the city up north. Both are a little too big on him.

Hank clears his throat. “It’s fine. Looks better on you than on me.” He looks to the side, eyes skimming the line of the old oaks in the distance, light quickly fading into night. “You’re really excited to go, aren’t you?”

“Yes. You were right. I should make use of my chance to be here to the fullest.”

Hank nods and pats Connor’s back. Connor doesn’t pull away. His words itch under Hank’s skin like thorns he can’t quite pick out.

They take the dusty road leading to the town as the last rays of sunshine caress the treetops. Sumo barks them goodbye.

The valley of slated roofs greets them with hundreds of warm glowing spots strung up in intricate patterns all over town. The view from above makes it look like a sprawled creature sporadically blinks at them with a multitude of lazy eyes. Connor jolts Hank as he takes his hand and drags him down the road.

The streets are filled with people, excitedly chattering, dancing, eating, singing. Strategically placed fires throw animated shadows on the walls, illuminating greasy smiles as dancers gathered around the booths wipe their mouth and lick off sticky honey coating their fingers. The music rushes around the bodies, making them move like grass, swelling like billows in the wind.

Connor points to the colorful garlands decorating front doors, windows and connecting houses in zig-zag lines over their heads.

“There’s so many people!” he shouts over the noise, taking them to the nearest booth, where a young woman with corn-colored hair and a wide smile sells bouquets and wreaths of wildflowers.

The whole time, Hank can’t stop concentrating on the weight of the fingers laced with his.

“Would you like a lover’s charm for your partner?” The woman winks at Hank and he feels himself grow red. He shifts awkwardly and rubs the back of his neck. Before he can say anything, Connor steps forward, letting go of his hand. He misses his touch immediately.

Connor’s gaze sharply focuses on one the bouquets right away.

“The blue one.” Connor huddles over the wreaths displayed in the corner. He looks back at Hank. “May I?”

“Sure,” Hank forces out.

“A great choice, baby blue eyes.” The woman hands him a small bundle of wildflowers, tied together with a longer string to hang it from the door or to wear it as a spell around one’s neck. “It strengthens the bond of intimacy and trust between those who decide to put their faith in it.” She winks again and Hank wishes for the earth to swallow him down.

Connor straightens the string delicately, brushing his fingers over the cerulean petals. “It’s the color of your eyes, you know? Baby blue.” Connor gives him an impish smile as he slips the charm over Hank’s neck, hands resting over his chest for a moment. Hank doesn’t breathe.

“You should go see the main square. The ring is about to begin.”

The woman’s voice breaks the spell and Connor looks in the direction she’s pointing. The line of people trickles towards the brightly lit arch leading to the square, the way lined with lanterns so as to guide them. Waving Hank over, restless on his feet, he shoots the vendor an elated grin and moves to follow the procession.

Hank slides a coin over the table for the flowers. Before he pulls away, the woman covers his hand, leaning over the board and whispering, pressing. “Hey, keep an eye on him, would you? Many strange folks drawn to the town this time of year.”

Hank feels an unease creep its way into his bones, scraping its fingernails down the tissue. “Why would I need to? Ain’t nobody interested in an honest man like him.”

The woman’s knowing look reminds Hank of his mother’s pursed lips, amusement hardly contained, when she knew exactly who nibbled on the pie that was cooling down on the windowsill. “Just be careful. Stay clear of anyone with the mark.” She lets him go, making a gesture in front of her to ward off evil.

Hank, having seen too many marvels in his life to remain superstitious, doesn’t repeat the blessing after her, but his palms get sweaty, itching to find comfort in a simple human belief. Mumbling his thanks, he quickly trails after Connor, eager to keep him in sight.

The square is packed with swirling skirts and flowing ribbons. In the middle of it roars a bonfire, and a ring of dancers enclosing the flames. Connor’s eyes shine with orange and red streaks, round as he watches the first brave kid break into a run, spread their arms in mimicry of an eagle and leap over flames.

“I’ve seen this. I’ve seen you do this.”

Another jumper breaks away from the ring. Connor laughs brightly as the girl’s ribbon catches fire and her friends drown her with a bucket of water they have on hand in case of emergencies. She splutters and grumbles like a wet cat.

Not for the first time, Hank wonders how long Connor’s been looking down at him.

“That was a long time ago. When I didn’t have this to hold me down.” Hank pats his gut.

Connor follows his hands with his eyes, an open look on his face. “I wonder if you could hold me down.”

Hank’s very intelligent, “Wha?,” is interrupted by a dancer with flushed cheeks and a gleam over his temples.

“I was wondering...”

A loud shout from the back drowns out the rest. “Whoa, you go, Michael!”

The man rolls his eyes. “I was wondering if you cared for a dance?” He extends his hand towards Connor.

The latter furrows his brow in confusion at first, then looks at Hank, forehead smoothing out. “I already -”

“He’ll go,” Hank says with determination. “It’s why we came here, right? To meet the world.”

Connor schools his expression to not show any more emotions besides the burning challenge in his eyes. “That’s right.” He turns to the young man and takes his hand and lets himself to be taken inside the mass of moving bodies.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude on -”

Hank hears the beginning of Michael’s apology before the crowd closes the way behind them. He sees Connor shake his head and laugh. Michael looks in Hank’s direction and then quickly turns his head back.

It’s easy for Hank to find the mead vendor and pour himself a glass as he stands on the edge of the ring, watching. Connor has that faint glow about himself again. He’s twirling, having fun among other blithe young people and in the arms of a man who isn’t Hank.

“Good.”

He takes a big gulp out of his drink, sweet flavor covering the burn, making for an unsatisfactory experience. He’s about to go look for something stronger when Connor’s eyes find him across the square. He locks gazes with him and doesn’t let go.

It starts in the center of his chest and spreads like a wildfire. Hank feels the tingling in the tips of his fingers. Connor’s floating in the arms of another man, but his eyes still follow Hank.

“You’re making it really difficult to be a good man,” he murmurs into his drink as his face heats up, pinned under the weight of the star’s hunger.

Connor bows his head to say something into Michael’s ear. The man squeezes his bicep and smiles at him. And then Connor’s forcing his way through the gaps in the ring, a single-minded focus in his gait, heading straight for Hank.

“You done already?” Hank steps back, guided by the force projected by Connor’s lithe figure.

He doesn’t answer, looping his arms around Hank’s neck without hesitation, pulling him to the side, under the canopy of garlands hanging from a gate in the corner of the square. They are standing half-hidden from the commotion, and Connor sways them gently to the rhythm much more slow-paced than the tune playing.

“Thank you for showing me this,” Connor finally speaks.

Hank doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he rests them on Connor’s hips like he wanted the whole time he watched him dance. “Yeah. This is what you came down for, right?”

Connor gives him a curious look. “That was only a part of it.”

Hank doesn’t understand why Connor keeps looking at him like that, this evening and all the evenings before. “Well, I’m glad you’re having a good time.”

Connor hums. He rests his head against Hank’s shoulder. “I understand now what you wanted me to get from this experience.”

“And what is that?”

“I understand that you’re afraid I only latched onto you because I haven’t had the chance to form other relationships.”

“You spent all your time cooped up in my workshop. It was selfish of me, keeping you to myself.”

“Hank, what I have with you matters more to me than those other hypothetical relations.” He buries his fingers into Hank’s back.

“I don’t have anything to offer you -”

Hank’s frustrated exclamation gets shushed by Connor’s fingers on his lips.

“Now I need _you_ to understand. Maybe I haven’t gotten to experience everything in this body yet, but I’ve seen it all. I’ve looked down for more lifetimes than you could count, seen all the world has to offer.”

The thought sends Hank’s mind reeling. Like a film scraped off its surface, it suddenly starts to focus more clearly. Seeing Connor with a soft smile and bedhead in the mornings made the edges of reality blurry, easy to forget Connor’s nothing like Hank.

“I know what I want.”

“Why me?”

His question is a resigned sigh, an echo from their first meeting. Tiredness seeps into his tone, his body yearning to surrender, beginning to give it a reason.

Connor takes Hank’s hand and guides it to his mouth. He presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles and then rubs his cheek into Hank’s palm.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” Connor’s face smooths out, almost like it’s reflecting the moonlight, water lines projecting and amplifying shimmer. “It takes a beautiful heart to make a star gravitate towards you. You pulled me in, plucked me right from the sky.”

Hank stares at Connor’s lips, moving, forming words that make little sense to him.

“And as you said, I’m not ready to let you go.”

Connor closes the distance between them.

His warm mouth moves against him, tentative, a question pressed against Hank’s lips. Hank can’t deny him an answer anymore. Connor’s wrong, it’s him who pulled Hank into his orbit. He was unable to resist the star’s force from the beginning. He pushes back, Connor’s content hum an immediate reaction.

“Is that a yes?” Connor murmurs between kisses.

Hank laughs into his mouth. “You make it sound like a proposal.”

“Hank!”

“How could I tell you no?”

He pulls away to look at Connor and has to do a double take. Grabbing Connor’s arm, he drags him to the dark alley he spots a little further behind the house with garlands. Connor’s face is bathed in liquid silver, projecting light from inside out. His hands, wrists, they glimmer in the dim space.

“For all the saints, Connor, you’re glowing!” Hank touches his skin. His fingers turn orange along the edges, like when you lift your hand against the sun. “What is happening to you?”

Connor smiles, almost blinding. “I’m a star.”

“Just a thing you do, huh.”

“I can’t control it when you make me feel like this.”

“Fuck.”

Hank can’t believe this is real. Connor definitely doesn’t look real. His ethereal star.

He takes a step closer so his chest is pressed against Connor’s, one more step and Connor’s back collides with the wall, a dull thud muffled by Hank’s imposing form. Connor’s smile turns into something a little less innocent, seemingly enjoying himself being pinned down like this.

Hank lets out a loud puff through his nose. “Twinkle, twinkle.”

Connor’s hands come up around his shoulders, fingers twisting in his hair, and Hank draws closer and crashes his mouth into Connor’s.

It’s not very graceful, neither he nor Connor are patient enough to slow down at first. He runs his tongue over Connor’s bottom lip and the star’s mouth opens up for him. Connor steals Hank’s breath, inhaling deeply, and then letting out hot air when Hank licks into him.

Connor tugs at Hank’s hair and Hank’s hand sneaks his way under the untucked hem of Connor’s shirt, fingers splaying over the jut of his hip bone, squeezing, smoothing over the warm skin there. Connor’s lips are so pliable. His body arches into his touch, his tongue follows Hank’s, twists cleverly and makes something dark and sweet bloom low in Hank’s gut. Connor’s knee slips between Hank’s open legs and presses upwards. Instinctively, Hank grinds into it, groaning, flicking his tongue against the roof of Connor’s mouth.

He sees white spots behind his eyelids. Connor must be shining like a beacon on the foggy sea. He moves his other hand under the leg Connor wedged between Hank’s thighs, sliding along the side to palm his ass, dragging him even closer.

Connor breaks apart with a moan, coming deep from his throat. Hank squints against the bright light emanating from him.

“You’re a quick learner, aren’t you?” His voice comes out gruff. He has to clear his throat, eyes stuck on Connor’s spit-slick lips.

“Only been thinking about this since forever.”

Hank laughs, his chest feels incredibly light. He’s leaning back in when there’s a flash of something silver in the corner of his eye, reflecting Connor’s light back at them. A zap of cold dread runs down his spine. Hank’s instincts kick in and he shoves Connor, pushing him to the ground. He lifts his hands, blocking the blade that would have slipped right into Connor’s throat if he didn’t act fast.

A hooded figure swings a dagger at him, aiming for his eyes, but Hank dodges the attack, sweeping at the person’s legs. They fall backward, landing on their hands and quickly crawl away, out of Hank’s reach. The hood slips off their head in the process, revealing an old scrawny woman. Hank feels Connor stand up behind him, the woman’s eyes following his moves with her yellow slits.

She looks at Hank, hatred so concentrated in her gaze, Hank almost takes a step back. “A clever move, warlock. Keeping the star all to yourself. Softening it up before you take it. But this one’s mine!” She lifts herself up, her body moving like predator’s, stretching with purpose.

Connor’s arm grabs Hank’s elbow. “Not a warlock, witch.” Because it’s clear, that’s what she is; the rune of _baba_ is tattooed on her forehead, making for a stark contrast against the paleness of her sickly looking skin.

“I see.” She hisses, rotten teeth flashing, twisting her lips in a ghastly simile of a smile. “Then you don’t know.”

“Know what?” Hank barks out, all the while backing away.

The witch advances slowly, pushing them out of the alley. Hank realizes the street leads to the edge of the town, out into the fields. The music from the square seems subdued, nobody will hear them out here.

“What fell into your lap. Eternal youth in one bite.”

“What do you mean?”

“My heart, Hank.” Connor’s voice sounds shaky behind him.

“To cut out the star’s heart and to eat it is to claim their immortality to yourself,” the witch recites. “I’ve been tracking the trail of your fall for weeks. Finally had some luck when I saw you glittering in his hands like a fluttering swan in heat.”

Connor tugs at Hank’s elbow. “Hank,” he whispers into his ear. “When I say, you have to close your eyes.”

“If I had got to you right then, I bet your heart would’ve tasted like a honeysuckle bloom. All malleable and sweet.” She bends her knees as if preparing for a jump. “Might be a bit bitter now; fear poisons the taste fast, but it will do the trick.”

Hank thinks he might be sick. Blood pumps loudly in his temples, cold sweat risen on his neck. He’s trying to think of all the ways to block the attack he knows it’s coming. The witch is quick on her feet and he can’t foresee what magic tricks she might have up her sleeve.

“You can crawl right back into whatever hole you came from, because you’re not getting to him.”

He keeps his voice clear, but he’s terrified. A flicker of a memory: he sees a small body, limp and pale in his arms, rid of its usual animated gaiety. He won’t let that happen again. Can’t even think of Connor’s body in another way than shining, shifting, pressing hot against him. He won’t let anyone snuff that light out.

The woman cackles, a sharp screeching sound that raises goosebumps on his skin. “How endearing of you to think you’re any match for me.” She flicks her wrist and Hank feels all sensation leave his body. He loses control over his arms and legs, leaving him paralyzed. Fear grips him, a desperate wail leaves his chest.

The witch raises the hand with the dagger and grins greedily. “The heart is mine.”

Connor steps out from behind Hank’s back, facing the woman, his chin jutted out. His face is pale and his fingers shake but he doesn’t back down. “Sorry, but my heart already belongs to someone.”

Hank hears the witch utter, “How unfortunate,” as her face twists into an ugly grimace. She lets out a wild shriek, charging at them.

But Connor’s already turned towards him, he’s tucking Hank’s head into the crook of his neck. “Close your eyes.”

Hank does. And Connor explodes.

Snow’s falling heavy, covering the ground quickly, inch by inch rising to the level of his eyes. Soon, Hank can’t see, hear, there’s only white all around him, drowning out everything else. He did not expect death to come so peacefully for him. There’s no pain, it arrives silent and without vengeance. He’s clutching at Connor’s body in his arms. It’s still there, solid, warm. Alive.

“Hank.”

He feels soft hands on his face, wiping his wet cheeks.

“Hank.”

It’s Connor. He blinks. His vision is flooded with the imprints of the eruption. It takes a while till it clears and Connor’s face comes into focus.

“We’re alive. How...” He touches Connor’s cheek like he can’t believe he’s real.

“Just a thing I do.” Connor smiles at him.

“Explode in a wave of light?”

“Shine so bright no one can look at me and live.”

“Huh.” Relief washes over him and he hugs Connor close. Connor’s arms wrap around his back. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“Told you. Not letting you go.”

Connor finds his mouth and kisses him softly, Hank’s salt tears mixing into it, his touch a balm, soothing, reassuring. Hank presses his hand against Connor’s chest, feeling the strong rhythm of his heart.

The foul aftertaste is still in the back of his throat. His thoughts are slow, floating around his head like leaves on still water, without direction. But he feels one, its presence stronger than others, lurking down in the mud, desperate to rise to the surface.

He wants to take Connor home, he wants to take him to see the ocean, he wants to show him how to catch fireflies on Saint John’s Eve, wants to tell him about Cole and about healed butterfly wings and the kind of magic that emanates peals of laughter. He wants to spend his nights and mornings with him. None of it matters.

“You can’t stay here, Connor.”

Connor’s expression still carries the fine impression of a smile. “Right. We should go home.” He tugs at Hank’s hand. “Maybe you’ll have to carry me.”

Hank pulls away. There’s a seam ripping along the line of his sternum. “You can’t stay _here_ , with me. That witch wasn’t the only one. There will be others, and you might be able to protect yourself, but a life spent constantly looking over your shoulder is not a life.” He swallows a lump blocking his throat. “One day, you’ll slip up, you won’t see them soon enough and -” He runs a hand through his sweaty hair.

Connor’s eyes do not leave Hank’s face. He seems unperturbed, impassive almost. “What are you saying?”

“You should go back.” He looks up at the sky, unable to bear Connor’s gaze any longer. “Where you belong.”

Connor doesn’t move. “Is that what you want?”

“If it means you’re safe, what I want doesn’t matter.”

“I can’t.”

“Connor, this isn’t about us -”

“But it is, Hank.” Connor grabs Hank’s chin, making him look at him. The brows drawn together, eyes impossibly kind. “I can’t just go back. That’s what happened when I chose to fall. I can never return, I’m mortal now. Heart of the star or not.”

Hank blinks. He feels something untamed rising inside him, hysterical bubbles of laughter climbing out of his throat. “Why would you do such a stupid thing?”

“Because I fell in love with you.”

The tear across Hank’s chest splits open. His heart spills out and lands in Connor’s waiting hands.

“I watched you collapse and get up again, never losing that kindness that drew my gaze to you. I couldn’t help but fall.”

Hank knows this to be true. Connor’s _I came to find you_ echoes clearly in the back of his mind.

“I’m sorry you lost him.”

Hank’s vision is blurry again. He scrunches his face, closing his eyes, firmly, to keep them from overflowing again. His exhale sounds wet and shaky. He reaches for Connor blindly, crushing him against his chest and buries himself in the crook of his neck.

He breathes in the star’s scent. A hint of sweat and something uniquely Connor. At that moment he knows this to be true, too: “I love you.”

He feels Connor inhale sharply against him and his face is grabbed by both his hands, lips pressing delicately to his eyelids. When he opens them, Connor’s washed in bright white light.

“You gonna do that every time?” Hank feels his lips stretch in a grin.

“I’m sorry, you try controlling it when someone you’ve been in love with for years tells you-” Connor’s voice cuts off.

“What-” Hank follows Connor’s line of sight and... “Oh.”

For Connor, he didn’t see the sky ignite with rivers of flowing bright colors. Green, orange, purple, yellow ribbons ripple over the fields around them, coiling and curving like snakes. The town below still engulfed by itself, they don’t seem to notice the flares above.

“Is this you?”

Connor shakes his head. “My siblings.” He glows brighter as his laughter resonates across space. A pink wave of light wraps around him, shimmering, almost caressing Connor’s form.

“They say hello.”

Hank jerks as a green ribbon pokes his cheek, the point of contact warm like when a few stray sun rays peek through the clouds. “Hi.” He says dumbly. The green light shakes in front of him, Hank could swear it seems like it’s amused.

“They were watching over me.”

“Of course, they were,” he murmurs. The light sweeps over Hank, comforting.

Connor’s eyes are wide as he looks at Hank. “They have a gift for us.”

Before he can ask what stars consider an appropriate response to that, the pink beam concentrates in the center of Connor’s chest. In flash it burns through him, enveloping him in a rosy hue. Connor falls to his knees with a shout. The colors die out around them just as suddenly as they appeared and the sky falls silent.

“Connor!” Hank sinks down next to him, propping him up in his arms. “Are you alright?”

“We have to stop meeting like this.” Connor shifts so his back’s leaning against Hank’s chest and turns his head to smirk at him.

Hank resists the urge to roll his eyes. He pinches the inside of Connor’s arm instead.

“Ouch!”

“That thing you just did scare me, you shiny prick. Are you okay?”

Connor looks betrayed as he rubs at the affected area. “You proclaim your love for a guy and suddenly all the romance’s gone.”

“Connor,” Hank says with more patience than he has. “What happened.”

“It was their gift.” Connor takes Hank’s hand and laces their fingers, bringing it to where his heart beats. “They took out the last bit magic out of me. To protect me.”

“Your heart.”

Connor nods. “I’m just an ordinary mortal now.”

Hank brushes the matted curl from his forehead. “Nothing ordinary about you.”

He gets another smile in return and Hank’s brow pinches with worry when he realizes the implications of what Connor just said. “You gave up your light...” he trails off. For what, really? To lead a life here with Hank? He can’t imagine an outcome that would be worth Connor’s sacrifice.

“Hank. If it wasn’t me who wanted this, longed for this for millennia, they wouldn’t have offered.” Connor squeezes Hank’s hand harder. “Besides, a day with you is worth those thousand years.”

“That’s...”

Connor raises his brows expectantly.

“Really cheesy.”

Connor swats at him. Hank leans down and captures his mouth in a deep kiss. He wants to pour the way his whole being swells with the thought of holding onto Connor a bit longer into it.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want,” he mumbles against his lips.

Connor pulls away from the kiss. “Take me home?”

“You want me to carry you?”

The star bats his eyelashes at him. Hank groans as he stands up, hoisting him in his arms. “I’ll probably won’t make it further than to the edge of the woods and will most likely drop you later.”

“Stop sweet talking me or I’ll blush.”

“You already are.”

Connor glares and wraps his arms tightly around Hank’s neck. Hank’s joy bursts at the seams and spills around them.

***

Hank wakes up to the sunlight sneaking in through the curtains and tickling his eyelids, and to something wet and soft lapping at his bare foot. He jerks and hides his leg back under the covers.

He blinks blearily at the culprit at the end of the bed. “Sumo,” he hisses, quietly, so as to not disturb the lump next to him. “Get out, buddy!” He points to the ajar door, and the dog shuffles outside slowly with his tail between his legs. He’ll have to make it up to him later.

He tries to shift but Connor somehow ended up draped all over his chest, legs intertwined with his, a starfish-shaped star stuck to him with all its arms.

Hank just looks at him, golden, bathed in the faint morning light, freckles and moles dotting his face. His fingers itch to draw lines and connect them, to find out if Connor carries constellations on his skin too. He blows on his eyelashes instead. Connor scrunches his nose.

“I need you to wake up and tell me last night wasn’t some crazy dream I had.”

As they stumbled their way to the house, the adrenaline leaving their bodies with each step closer to home, they just crashed on the bed, dead tired, falling asleep instantly. Hank’s memories slowly flood back in.

“That depends.” Connor yawns and opens his eyes. “Do you remember this?” He cranes his head to peck Hank’s lips.

“Hm, barely. Remind me?”

Connor’s lips stretch in a smile and he takes Hank’s bottom lip between his teeth, worrying it gently, watching Hank’s pupils get blown wide, then slipping his tongue in. The weight of Connor’s body against him is addicting.

“And this?” Sliding one leg between Hank’s thighs, he presses it against his crotch, the warmth seeping through the thin cotton of his pants.

Hank groans, morning haziness bleeding out of his bones, quickly replaced by a delicious kind of hunger. He grabs the back of Connor’s thigh and flips them. Connor blinks up at him, surprised and doe-eyed. Hank is drowning in the syrupy sweet fondness pooling in his chest.

He speaks, his voice low but clear in the quiet room: “I love you. Remember that?”

Connor’s eyes shine, his hand coming to rub Hank’s cheek. There’s a moment when they just look at one another, drinking each other in.

Then Connor’s surging up to kiss him, to murmur against his lips. “Hank.” A soft sigh of his name. “Would you make love to me?”

Hank thinks he feels his heart skip a beat. “Anything you want.”

“You.”

Connor slides his hands under Hank’s shirt, touching him everywhere, fingers digging into the soft flesh on his hips intently. Connor seems to especially like places where Hank has gone chubby over the years, palming and kneading at his stomach.

Hank marks a trail down his neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses in his wake. He tugs at the neckline of his shirt, revealing his collarbones. Connor squirms when Hank starts sucking at the spots along the line, gently biting and soothing the skin with his tongue.

Connor pushes against Hank’s chest. “Take it off.” He bunches Hank’s shirt in his hands and Hank obediently raises his arms, catching it when Connor pulls it up to his wrists and throwing it on the floor.

Connor’s hands immediately go to his chest, fingers carding through the wiry salt-and-pepper hair covering his pecs. With wide eyes, he brushes his fingers against Hank’s nipples, sucking his bottom lip in when Hank inhales sharply. He catches on quick and takes one of them between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently. “Oh, I like this.” Hank feels a pang of pleasure shoot down his spine, amplified by the eagerness in Connor's voice.

He traps Connor’s wrist in his hand, pulling it away. “Hey, what if we get you out of your clothes first?”

Connor doesn’t seem deterred; with an incredible speed he pulls the shirt over his head and gets to work on his belt. Hank moves to help him, palming his thighs as he slides upwards. Connor rises on his knees so Hank can tug the pants down easily, then kicks them off.

Connor lies on his back, arms reaching for Hank to join him and Hank lets his eyes wander, greedily, over the long line of his smooth body. Connor wets his lips, parting them in a lazy smile. “Tell me, am I pretty?”

“You’re beautiful.” Hank slips a hand on the inside of his naked thighs, pale and silken to the touch.

Somewhere in the back of his mind is a voice that keeps reminding him how he’s the first to get to touch Connor like this. He feels increasingly less confident. All he wants, desperately, is to make this good for him. But Connor doesn’t seem to mind his rough calloused hands, or the way there’s sweat beading on his temples already.

On the contrary, his thighs fall open at the mere brush of Hank’s fingers, inviting him in. Connor’s cock is half hard, nestled in a thatch of soft dark curls, curving to his left hip.

“You gotta tell me what feels good, alright?”

“Right now, just about everything.”

Connor watches, curious, as he reaches out and cups his cock, his large hand covering him completely.

“That definitely f-feels...” He yelps when Hank starts tugging at the head, sweeping his thumb over it. “Good.” Hank strokes him until Connor lies heavy in his hand, flushed at the tip.

Hank shifts between Connor’s knees, admiring his handiwork lovingly. “What about this?” He leans down, gathering spit on his tongue, and he licks him from the base up in one slow stroke.

“Oh fuck!”

Hank laughs and he kisses the tip, draws it in his mouth, sucking gently. It might be the first time he heard Connor swear.

He looks up and Connor’s hands are twisted in the sheets, blush spread over his neck and down his chest. Connor meets his eyes and reaches for him, hands pulling his hair demandingly. “Kiss me.”

He swallows Connor’s desperation, and it settles deep in his stomach, kindling a low burning fire.

“Hey baby, if you wanna do this, it’s gonna take some prep.” He sweeps Connor’s hair back. “You sure you don’t want me to just suck you off?”

The star juts his chin, a look of determination engraved on his face. “I’ve waited for this long enough.”

Hank pats his hip with amusement and shuffles down the bed. “Then wait a little longer.”

He pads to the table, shutting the door and discarding his pants in the process. He sighs in relief as his cock springs free, hanging heavy between his legs. He hears Connor gasp.

“I thought you were watching me.”

“I did not watch everything!”

He gives himself a few lazy strokes, eyes on Connor. It’s thrilling to have such a responsive audience. “But you wanted to.”

“Hank,” Connor whines, letting his legs spread open wider.

“Shit, alright.”

He picks up the jug and fills the ceramic bowl with water, grabbing a clean cloth from the clothesline hanging above the stove and a jar of almond oil he got the last time he went up to the coast.

He puts it all down next to the bed and yanks gently on Connor’s ankle. “First, we’re gonna have to clean you up a little. Sorry, this part’s not very..”

Connor sweeps a thumb over Hank’s brow. “I trust you.”

Hank breathes out. “You’ll have to turn around.” He guides him, Connor’s eager to oblige. “On your hands and knees.”

Hank runs both palms along the round curves of Connor’s ass. He’s not the one to wax erotic poetry but may whatever God up there smite him if this is isn’t one of the most spiritual moments he’s experienced in his life. “Perfect. Y’look like a very fine meal, my love.”

“So take a bite.”

Hank laughs, he’s a bit light-headed with how Connor’s cheeks feel under his hands, smooth and so pliable. “Don’t tempt me.” But he does bend down and playfully clamps his teeth around a small bite. He kisses a mole next to it and taps Connor’s thigh. “Wider.” Connor adjusts himself and Hank picks up the bowl, laying it carefully in the sheets so it doesn’t tip over, and soaks the cloth in the tepid water.

He works methodically, dragging the cloth over Connor’s perineum, circling his hole, making him moan when he fondles his balls in one hand. He pours some oil down Connor’s crack and Connor shivers. “Easy.” He rubs a dimple in his lower back. “Just try to relax.”

Spreading the oil over his fingers, he warms it up and lightly presses his thumb over the pink pucker. He strokes it, pressing and rubbing until it gives way to the pressure and his finger slips in. “Good?”

“Yeah,” he hears, muffled by the pillow.

Connor responding to his touch, succumbing to his caresses, it tames the unforgiving river coursing through Hank’s memories, fills him with wonder. He aches to always have this, the star making him brim over with a tender, growing love.

Hank switches fingers and slowly pushes his index all the way in, moving it in small careful circles to help Connor stretch. “How does it feel now?”

“Hmm,” Connor hums in response, turning it into a moan at the end as Hank curls up his finger and presses against the hard bump inside his walls, giving it a few firm rubs.

“Was that-” Connor pants.

“You like it?” Hank pulls out and cleans his fingers with the rag, wiping away some smudges.

“Do it again?”

Hank is more than happy to obey. He pours more oil, repeating the process, easing Connor into it with his slow ministrations. When Connor’s puffing against the pillow, the line of his back melted, he adds a second finger, scissoring them and rubbing the marble inside.

“Hank, please. I think I need... I need you.”

Connor’s plea sends blood pumping hot straight to Hank's cock. Hank didn’t even realize how hard he was, but now he can’t _not_ touch himself. He grips the base tightly in his left hand, groaning with the wave of heat that floods his abdomen. “Yeah, baby, I know.” He has to focus on Connor. He wipes his fingers again, deciding Connor’s clean enough. He shuffles lower down the bed. “But you gotta be patient. I’m not gonna be an easy fit.”

“You know you saying that is not-” He mewls when Hank slips two fingers back in, holding him open. “...Helping.”

“Sorry.” Hank bends down and licks into him. Connor screams.

He sucks on the rim, worrying the tight muscle until he gets it red along the edge, malleable under his lips. He slides his tongue inside, alongside with the fingers. He licks, sucks, nibbles and Connor’s reduced to putty in his hands.

“Gods, your beard.” Connor groans loudly.

Hank pulls away, concerned. “Does it chafe too much?”

“Don’t you dare,” Connor blindly reaches behind him, propping himself on one elbow. He somehow finds Hank’s head and pulls him back to his slick hole. Uncoordinated, Hank ends up with his nose buried in Connor’s ass.

A low chuckle fights its way deep from his chest. “I guess that means you like that too.”

Connor is still tight when Hank adds a third finger, but he’s starting to buck up against his face and Hank knows it’ll have to do. He stretches him a bit more, teasing his prostate. Connor arches his back, chasing the pressure.

Hank reaches for Connor’s cock and finds him leaking, sticky with precome.

“Hank, uh, I really think I’m ready.”

“You do, huh.” He strokes him, maddeningly slow, and watches Connor’s shoulder blades shift as he tries to move with him.

“Alright, my star.” He cards his hand through Connor’s hair and feels better about how he’s coping when he sees that Connor’s sweating too. The strands are plastered to his temples and forehead. Hank pulls his head up, gently, making Connor look at him. His eyes are glassy, blush high on his cheeks. Hank wants to hold him and kiss him, he wants to pin him down and make him his.

“Do you wanna lie on your back?”

Connor nods. “I wanna see you.”

He helps him turn, maneuvering him to lie down, propping a pillow under his lower back. The fabric is slightly wet on one side, like Connor’s bitten it at some point. He splays one hand on Connor’s chest, over his heart. Connor’s fingers come to rest over it. With the other, he dips his fingers in the jar, and coats his cock with the slick generously.

He shivers when he slides the head of his cock along Connor’s swollen rim. Hank stares down the line of his body, delicate and flushed to perfection, his cute curved cock ruddy, milky pearls gathering at the tip. Connor smiles at him and lifts up his legs to wrap them around Hank’s thick waist. His thighs are shaking. He looks so vulnerably human at that moment.

“Come on. Show me. Teach me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s shaking too as he pushes in, much too slow, trying his best not to slam all the way in at once. Instead, he focuses on Connor’s mouth falling open with a gasp, breath pushed out of his lungs, his head rolling back, exposing the pale column of his throat.

“Fuck.” Hank has to push his own hair back, it keeps falling into his eyes. He’s breathing hard when he finally bottoms out. The sensation has him seeing white spots in his peripheral vision, just like when he was looking at Connor glowing. Connor’s so tight around him, he’s filling him completely, stretching him to the limit.

“How’s it?” he murmurs, clipped and low.

Connor opens his eyes. A strenuous task, apparently. “Move,” he pants out through clenched teeth.

Hank has at last thought to catch himself on an elbow, leaning over Connor so he doesn’t crush him, and he starts moving. He pulls out, holding the tip in, and meets Connor’s gaze. Then he pushes back in, faster than the first time. He drags his cock along Connor’s walls, the sweet heat enveloping him.

“Please.”

Hank can’t hold himself back anymore. He starts pumping his hips slowly, and Connor shuts his eyes, his fingers buried in Hank’s back. Short nails make small contact points of pain that keep Hank grounded. With each thrust, he pushes little sounds out of Connor’s chest while Hank puffs out heavy breaths, the air mingling between them.

“I didn’t know -” Connor moans when Hank slams in harder. “It's so good.”

Hank finds his mouth and kisses him deep. It’s messy, spit making their lips glide together with ease. He sets a fast-paced rhythm, the only sound in the room their loud exhales and the slapping of skin on skin. Hank feels a tight bundle coil in his abdomen, pooling in far too quickly.

Connor squeezes his trembling thighs firmly around him and Hank shifts on his elbow. He starts hitting him deeper, each stroke brushing the spot that makes Connor wail even louder, his mouth slipping, perpetually open in a scream.

He’s moaning Hank’s name or some version of it, and Hank can’t concentrate on anything but the way Connor clenches around him. He’s rutting into him, without any sense or pattern now, just riding those waves of pleasure that start from where they’re connected.

A part of him, that selfish, possessive part of him, purrs loudly in the back of his mind when he sees tears gathering in the corners of Connor’s eyes. He made him feel like this, he made the star fall and now he makes him fall apart. He closes his mouth around Connor’s pulse point, tasting the wild beat of his heart.

“You close?”

He doesn’t know if Connor registers his question, muttered in a strained voice, but Connor clenches around him again, impossibly tighter. Hank grabs his cock, lying untouched between them and tugs at it roughly. Rubbing along the shaft with his shaking hand, he fucks into him in short desperate thrusts.

Suddenly Connor’s body arches under him and he spills into Hank’s hand with a shout. He clutches at Hank’s back with a strong grip, scratching red lines into his skin.

The way he clings to him, holding him inside with the walls spasming around him - it’s what pushes Hank over the edge. One, two, three more jerks of his hips and he’s coming too. He tries to pull out, but Connor’s hands slide down on his ass, pressing down. “Don’t,” he whispers, body going boneless under him while Hank’s vision whites out. He’s wracked with aftershocks, drowned in Connor’s scent and in the blissful pleasure of the crest breaking.

He shallowly thrusts in a few more times, feeling himself spilling hot in Connor, filling him even more than before. He stays like that for a moment, mind hazy, face buried in the crook of Connor’s neck, holding himself up with an enormous effort, his bicep straining to support his weight.

Connor is the first to move, eventually, untangling his hands and stretching himself slowly, like the feeling’s returning to his limbs, bones melted in a delectable haze. He runs his fingers down Hank’s chest, cupping his pec and squeezing it like before. “That was so much better than I imagined.”

Hank grunts, pulling his quickly softening cock out and rolling over next to him. “It’s not always like that.” He brings his hand between Connor’s thighs, brushing against his balls and slipping two fingers in his hole. The hot cum is leaking on the sheets. He pumps his fingers in and out, enjoying the sated look on Connor’s face.

“You set the bar pretty high then.”

Hank snorts and reaches for the wet cloth, his movements sluggish and relaxed. He sweeps it gently over the mix of semen and oil covering Connor’s smooth skin. Connor’s looking at him, the way he always does, and Hank can’t contain the fluttering in his chest. “Thank you.” He places a kiss on his forehead.

“For what?”

“For coming to find me.”

Connor’s smile’s a first primrose on the slope behind his house, when the spring sneaks in scattering flowers over the hills. He curls into Hank’s side, tracing arcane paths in his wiry hair, along his arms, along his sternum. “No problem, it was on my way, anyway.”

“Okay, smartass.” Hank pinches his ass.

Connor moves to retaliate when there’s loud whining and scratching on the door.

“Uh.”

“We didn’t feed him.” Connor blinks at him.

Poor Sumo will have to forgive him for letting himself be swept off his feet by one very eager star. “Well. As much as I’d love to stay here all day -” Hank stands up, groaning. His back doesn’t take as much as it used to. He heads for the door.

“Hank.”

He turns to the sight of Connor, spread gracefully on the bed, a silver string drawn in a lovely melodic tone. The echoes of pleasure still thrum through Hank’s body.

“Thank you for catching me.”

***

Maybe stars don’t fall to fulfill our wishes. Or maybe, they fall to make theirs come true and those we don’t know our heart longed for.

After Hank shows Connor the world, after they’ve seen the great whales in the North, trudged barefoot through the low-clipped waves on sunlit mornings, danced in the warmth of summer nights and after Connor’s caught a firefly in the curls of his hair, after he’s known his love through and through, Hank still swears Connor’s eyes shine sometimes - reflecting the heart of a star, beating inside him.

**Author's Note:**

> again, all the love to [this lovely bee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeepGrandCherokeeper/) aka [@beepgrandchero](https://twitter.com/beepgrandchero), who did an amazing job editing this hot mess of work
> 
> i’m on [twitter](https://twitter.com/beethkay) where i'm still balls deep in hankcon  
> if you're so inclined, you can leave kudos or comments, this ao3 user will immensely appreciate it! or check out my other works if you're a fan of tender love like me!


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